Of birds and bees
by Lucyinthesky1996
Summary: After an experiment goes wrong, Sherlock ends up pregnant and it's up to John to protect him and the baby from Moriarty's wrath. WARNING: MPREG. CURRENTLY EDITING.
1. Baby names

**Hello my good chums, it's been a while. Basically, I've returned to this story after a year (it's been so long *cries) and have just realised how many grammatical errors there are - what can I say, I was young and inexperienced. Now that I'm a crazy grammar Nazi, I'll be updating the story with the correct grammar so it is more readable. Also, after reading more into the Sherlock fandom, I'll be making a few changes in the story. I'll sadly be replacing Blue with Gladstone, as he is actually a canon dog in the Sherlock Holmes movie and James' middle name will be changed from Winston to Hamish. I hope you do not hate me for this. Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

><p>"James and Amelia."<p>

John stopped typing on his laptop and stared at Sherlock. The dark hair man was sprawled across the sofa, reading a book on astronomy; his swollen, heaving stomach gently moving up and down as he breathed. The two hadn't spoken for weeks ever since the "incident" where Sherlock had been carrying out an experiment without John's knowledge and somehow ended up pregnant. For some strange reason, he'd blamed John and they'd both been distant up until this very moment.

"What?"

"James and Amelia" Sherlock said again, his eyes still fixated on the book, "James if it's a boy and Amelia if it's a girl."

"I thought you didn't want to bother with names until the baby was born."

"I don't but seeing as you're looking online for advice, I thought I'd just save you the trouble."

"How did you know I was-?"

"Oh come on John, it's obvious from a hundred miles. First of all you're slouching, you never slouch when you're on your laptop except when in deep concentration or in this case when you're looking for something. Secondly, you're barely typing at all, you're scrolling down the page as if you're reading a list of some sort, no doubt a list of suitable baby names and third of all, I checked your online history and found over a hundred websites providing unique and unusual names for infants. Need I go on?"

John growled. He really needed to start deleting his history.

"So what if I'm looking? I just want a name I'm comfortable with."

"And there you have it. James or Amelia. Nice, neat, short names."

"Yes but…aren't they a little...?"

"A little what?"

"…_formal_?"

"Well do _you_ have any other suggestions?"

"Well, I found this one good website" John replied, scrolling down the list again, "For boys, how about…Henry?"

"Too friendly."

"Okay, what about…Ben?"

"Too boring."

"…Jack?"

"Old fashioned."

"Thomas?"

"Snobbish."

"Okay, forget boys," John scrolled down some more, "How about Charlotte for a girl?"

"Plain, very plain…"

"Amanda?"

"Pernickety."

"Abbie?"

Sherlock didn't even need to reply.

"Alright," John finally admitted defeat, closing up his laptop, "Why James and Amelia?"

"Well it's quite simple. James makes him sound intelligent without making him sound stuck up and Amelia is short and sweet."

"Oh come on Sherlock…"

"James and Amelia," Sherlock repeated with a sharp tone to his voice, "take it or leave it."

John sighed and shook his head, he hated it when the hormones kicked in. Sherlock Holmes was as stubborn as a mule, pregnant or not pregnant.

This was going to be a long nine months.


	2. How it all started part 1

"_Please_ John?"

"No."

"It's just an experiment, it's perfectly safe."

"Sherlock, you should know by now that with you _nothing_ is safe. Your experiments either break things, ruin things, or set things on fire."

Sherlock sighed, John Watson was a tough nut to crack.

"Look, if anything goes wrong you'll never have to do it again, I promise you. So will you please help me?"

John struggled to keep his stern composure as those sky blue eyes blinked longingly at him. God dammit, why was Sherlock so _pretty_?

"Alright, fine! I'll be your stupid guinea pig."

"Thank you John!" Sherlock peeped happily, giving the smaller man a squeeze, "stay right there, I'll be back in a second."

The detective bounced off to get his equipment, leaving John alone in the kitchen. Somehow, somewhere deep inside of him, he had a feeling he'd regret this…

* * *

><p>"Ok, are you ready?" said Sherlock eagerly, waving a small bottle in front of the doctor's face.<p>

"Remind me, what is this all for again?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes; "For the last time John, _male fertility_. I've been working on this substance for weeks and I'm certain it'll work on you."

"_Work_ on me? What exactly does it do?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough. Now open wide."

Before John could protest, Sherlock had already pinched his nose and emptied the contents of the bottle down his throat. The liquid was hot and made the small man cough. He could feel a slight burning feeling spreading across his chest.

"Good, now we can move onto to the next stage of the experiment," he walked out of the kitchen, beckoning the doctor to follow him.

"What's the next stage?" John asked, stifling a cough.

Sherlock paused when they got to the bedroom and turned to give John a playful look.

"Now we jazz it up a little."

* * *

><p>This wasn't the first time John and Sherlock had made love. But it was by far the roughest.<p>

"Honestly John, why can't_ I_ be on top?"

"Well it's only natural for the man of the relationship to go on top."

"And who said _you_ were the man in the relationship?"

'My dear Sherlock, I fought in Afghanistan."

"And you think that's manlier then putting up with Mycroft?"

It was about fifteen minutes before Sherlock decided they'd done enough and they both withdrew, panting and drenched in sweat.

"So…" John breathed, "is that it?"

"Yep. Results should come up in a few days."

"Great…wait, what results?"

"Oh, nothing you should be worried about..."


	3. How it all started part 2

"WATSON!"

The booming sound from upstairs made John jump out of his skin, his hand colliding with his mug so the content of his drink spilled over and dripped down the table leg. He blinked as Sherlock stormed in, his face pale, his eyes burning with rage. John suddenly felt afraid.

"Look at this," Sherlock said, his voice a little calmer but with an equal amount of force as he held something out to John. The doctor blinked at it, then took the small item in his hand.

"A pregnancy test…"

"And what do you deduct from that?"

John's eyebrows knitted slightly, then he glanced upwards at Sherlock

"No…you're…?"

"_Yes_ I am pregnant, you idiot! This is all your fault!"

"_My_ fault? How is it my fault?"

"If you'd have let me be on top, this never would have happened!"

"On top? What are you…? Wait…_that_ was your experiment? You were trying to get me _pregnant_?"

"Yes! Well, no...for God's sake, I didn't think it'd actually _work_!"

"But how…?"

"That liquid you drank, it was full of fertility drugs" Sherlock collapsed in an armchair, head in hands, "I wanted to see the reaction it would have on a male body. But I never thought-"

"Hold on, you gave me _fertility _drugs?"

"Yes, I did! So shoot me!"

"Sherlock, do you know how _dangerous_ that is? I could have got really sick…I could have _died_!"

"Well you're a doctor so I assumed you'd find a creative way of curing yourself"

John couldn't believe what he was hearing

"Sherlock, I can't believe you would-"

"Oh lay off! It's not like you're the one who has to carry around another human being for another nine months!"

"And whose fault is that?"

"Like I said, _yours_!"

From downstairs, Mrs Hudson lifted an eyebrow as the quarrelling got louder.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

"Never speak to me again John!"

"_Bitch_!"

"_Moron_!"


	4. Morning sickness

John was awakened a few days later by the sound of heavy vomiting. He got out of bed and went downstairs to where the noise was coming from, to find Sherlock bent over the kitchen sink, emptying out the contents of his stomach.

"Oh Sherl..." John said, going over and gently rubbing his back as he coughed up more yellowish bile. When he was finished, he turned the taps with a shaking hand so the foul liquid was washed down the sink. He looked awful.

"Sherlock-"

"This isn't right," he sounded so lost, "Men aren't meant to get pregnant. This is all _wrong_."

"It's okay Sherl, you'll be fine."

"This is all my fault."

John blinked, "Well yeah, I can agree with you on that one. What you did was unthoughtful and stupid, something only an idiot would think of doing- there's no need to look at me like that Sherlock, you know I'm right."

"Yeah, I know. You're always right."

"No I'm not. I'm always wrong whenever it comes to analyzing evidence. You always rub my face in it."

"No I don't" Sherlock protested, then he smirked "Yeah I do."

"Come on, we should get you back to bed"

"…John."

"Yes?"

"…can I sleep with you?"

"Pardon?"

"I mean…I don't want to be alone…not like this."

John sighed, "Alright. But if you throw up on the bedsheets, Mrs Hudson will kill me."


	5. Gladstone

"We should get a dog."

John was busy putting the shopping away when Sherlock spoke. His stomach was getting larger which meant he could no longer go out looking for criminals but that didn't deter him from working on cases. He got Lestrade to email him new cases to which he'd reply with vital information. John meanwhile, still had his daily trips to Sainsbury's.

"A dog? That's a bit risky isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well…more responsibility, cleaning, feeding…"

"I'll have you know, I had a dog as a child, I'm perfectly experienced."

"That's all very well but remember then there's pet insurance and all the money we'll have to spend on food. We're behind enough on the rent as it is."

"So? A dog would be a great playmate for the baby."

"I guess…"

"And you won't have to lift a finger. I'll look after it, I promise."

"Well, you aren't capable of doing much at the moment. I don't know Sherlock, dogs don't come cheap. It'd be useful if one just turned up at the door."

At that moment there was a rapping at the door and the sound of Mrs Hudson's voice behind it. She seemed to be talking to herself. Sherlock made a move to get up but John stopped him.

"I'll go" he said gently, before walking over and opening the door.

Mrs Hudson wasn't alone. As she walked in, John could see there was a small dog trotting at her heels, attached to a red lead. It was a bulldog, too big to be a puppy but too small to be fully grown. At the sight of it, Sherlock was immediately intrigued, sitting up from his slouched position and staring at it in wonder.

"Sorry to disturb you dears. Just wanted to remind you that your rent is due this week," she said more to John than Sherlock as the dark haired man was too busy ruffling the dogs ears to really listen.

"He's beautiful," he said suddenly, in a voice that John had never heard him speak before

"Isn't he?" Mrs Hudson replied, "Found him wandering around alone. No microchip or anything. Honestly people these days, don't give a toss about their pets, can't be bothered to look after them. Anyway, I was thinking of giving him to the dog centre but they'd probably put him down, he's so skinny. Trouble is, I can't find anyone who would have him. I'd love to keep him but I'd never manage; all that cleaning, feeding…"

Sherlock suddenly glanced at John and the doctor knew that look all to well.

"We'll take him," Sherlock said before John could stop him

"Sherlock-"

"You heard her John, they'll put him down."

"Yes but think of how much money he's going to cost us. We already have a rent to pay."

"Come on John, please," and Sherlock's face became an expression that he knew the doctor couldn't resist, "Please?"

Oh no, John wasn't going to let Sherlock walk all over it this time. He could see himself landed with all the work, doing all the walks, buying the food, clearing up the mess, all that whilst caring for a baby. No, it wasn't going to happen…

…even though the dog _was_ quite cute looking…with his clumsy expression and his rigid way of walking.

How could he say no?

John sighed, "Alright, he can stay."

Had he not been pregnant, Sherlock would have leaped for joy. Instead, he gave John a kiss on the lips.

"That's very decent of you, Mr. Watson," said Mrs Hudson, handing the lead to John, "and just for that, I'll pay your pet insurance for you."

"But Mrs Hudson-"

"Think of it as my gift for the little one. Which reminds me," she delved into her pocket and pulled out a roll of twenty pound notes.

"Oh Mrs Hudson, I can't-"

"I insist. You need it more than I."

"Thank you."

She smiled at them and then left, leaving Sherlock to fuss over their new pet.

"That was very kind of Mrs Hudson."

"Maybe she isn't so bad after all. So, have you thought of a name for our new arrival?"

"I've already named our children. It's your turn."

"Well…" John took a proper look at the dog, "How about Gladstone?"

Sherlock blinked, "Gladstone?"

"Well, can _you_ think of anything better?"


	6. Almost a domestic

"But-"

"No," said John, tearing off the last nicotine patch on Sherlock's arm, "They're not good for you Sherlock and they could hurt the baby."

"But can I at least-?"

"You are _not_ going off on that car jacking case either," John said, stepping on the end of Sherlock's coat to prevent any further attempt to get away, "I'm sure Lestrade can cope on his own."

"Joooohhn..." Sherlock had almost wept when John confiscated his beloved experiments and stored them in solitary confinement.

"_No_ Sherlock. These can't be left lying around when the baby's born and it was an experiment that made you pregnant in the first place. Another one like that and we'll end up with twins!"

Sherlock had begged and whined and pleaded but John Watson stood like a brick wall. In the end, the world's only consulting detective gave up and went off into his room to sulk like a child. Gladstone followed him in there and as John passed the door later that afternoon, he could hear the dark haired man muttering something to the dog in his husky voice.

"…who does he think he is? Taking everything away from me like he's the _king._"

John frowned, shaking his head at how childish Sherlock sounded.

"And it's not like he's anyone important. I mean, I'm _Sherlock Holmes_, the world's _only_ consulting detective. He's just John Watson."

John decided he had heard enough and would have moved away from the door had Sherlock not spoken again.

"I guess you're right Gladstone, he is very important to _us._"

John almost laughed out loud. Sherlock Holmes – the world's _only_ consulting detective – was having a heart to heart with a _dog_?

"I mean, he is doing it for me…and the baby. I suppose he's as nervous as I am. I do love him though. I mean, I love his eyes…"

John blinked and then peered at himself through the mirror which was hanging on the wall beside the bedroom door.

_They are quite nice aren't they?_

"And his smile…"

_Really? He likes my smile? Well, now that he mentions it…_

"And he's strong…inside and outside…"

_Well, I do try my best._

"…he's sweet, and helpful and polite and I'd never be able to do my cases without him..."

_Oh I'm loving this._

"…he's patient and kind…"

_Go on, go on..._

"…and he's listening outside the door as we speak."

_…wait, what?_

John slowly opened the door and grinned sheepishly at Sherlock who was sitting there with his arms folded, Gladstone cocking his head in curiosity.

"How did you do that?"

"It was noticeable at one hundred miles."

"Oh…so all that stuff…it was just to wind me up?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow then smiled.

"I deduct you are disappointed."

"Well, yeah…to think, I was about to start going on about how I feel about _you_. About how pretty you are and how much I love your eyes…"

"John-"

"…and how sexy you are for a pregnant guy…"

"John."

"And how much your deduction skills impress me and-"

"_John._"

"Sherlock?"

"Kiss me."


	7. The baby kicks

"I meant it."

John lifted his head and peered down at Sherlock. They were both entangled on the bed, Sherlock's legs wrapped around John's waist while the doctor's hands rested protectively on the detective's stomach.

"Meant what?"

"Everything I said about you."

John blushed, "So…you weren't really pulling my leg?"

"Why would I do that?"

John decided not to answer. Instead he muttered, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"About the nicotine patches and the experiments and being such a control freak. I'm just worried-"

Sherlock put a finger on his lips, "Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. No nicotine patches, no experiments, no running after deranged criminals until the baby is at least a year old."

"A _year_? Are you sure you can survive that long?"

"For you John, I'd give up anything. Don't look surprised, you know I would."

This intimate moment was interrupted however when Sherlock suddenly gasped.

"What is it?" John asked anxiously, "What's wrong?"

Sherlock didn't say anything, just peered down at his stomach.

"Does it hurt? Do I need to call someone?"

The detective suddenly latched onto the doctor's wrist and pulled his hand down and placed it on his stomach again. John could feel a soft prodding coming from inside.

"It's kicking John," Sherlock suddenly had tears in his eyes, something John had never seen before, "It's kicking."

John was too shocked to say anything. He just smoothed his hand over Sherlock's stomach, quietly saying hello to his new son or daughter.


	8. Uncle Mycroft

"What's this?"

"It's herbal tea. Apparently it's really good for pregnant women…or in your case, _men._"

Sherlock sighed and took a sip. It was strawberry and made his throat burn but it did have a nice after taste. He coughed a little as his phone went off inside his pocket.

"Get that for me will you John?" he said, setting the cup aside. John sighed and dug the phone out of the detective's pocket and put it to his ear.

"Hello…ah, Mycroft."

At that name, Sherlock's head whipped up, his eyes wide.

"I assume you heard the news…yeah he's doing great, aren't you Sherl?"

Sherlock drew a finger across his throat.

"What's that…? This afternoon? Well, it's a little short notice…"

He ignored the dark haired man who was busy mouthing, "_Say no, say no._"

"Yes, I don't see why not."

Sherlock threw back his head and groaned.

"Okay, see you then," he switched the phone off, "Your brother's coming round at one."

Sherlock glared at him sullenly.

"Oh come on, it's not like you can prevent him from seeing his own niece or nephew."

"Can't I?"

"Honestly Sherl, what did he do to make you hate him that much?"

"You wouldn't understand," Sherlock suddenly hunched up, though it was difficult because his stomach got in the way.

John just shook his head and went back to the kitchen while the detective drowned himself in more herbal tea.

* * *

><p>"I must say, I never in my life thought I'd say this to you Sherlock but congratulations."<p>

Sherlock didn't say anything, just sat there scowling in his armchair. John nodded politely at Mycroft.

"Thanks, we appreciate it."

"It must have been a very..._unique_ experiment my brother carried out."

"You could say that."

"Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet," Sherlock suddenly hissed. Mycroft ignored this act of rudeness as his attention had turned to Gladstone.

"I see you have another new arrival," he half heartedly reached down and patted the dim looking creature between the ears.

"Yeah, Mrs Hudson gave him to us."

"Do you remember our dog Sherlock? Do you remember Winston?"

Sherlock said nothing. He turned his head away and John noticed a flicker of distress in his eyes.

"Sherlock?" he asked worriedly.

"I think Gladstone could use a walk John," he said suddenly, getting up and reaching for John's coat, "You should take him to that park down the road or something."

"But he went this morning-"

"He could use the exercise" he handed John his coat and looked him in the eye, "I think you best go out and get some fresh air."

John knew that look. He knew immediately that Sherlock wanted to be alone so he could talk with his brother. So he just nodded and slid his coat on. He attached Gladstone's collar round his neck, bid Mycroft farewell and left out the door with the little dog waddling after him. He was about to walk downstairs when Sherlock's voice made him pause and peer through the crack in the door, putting out a hand to silence the bulldog.

"Why are you here?"

"My brother is_ pregnant_, did you really think I would keep away?"

"I _hoped_ you would keep away."

"Sherlock, now is not the time for this. You need help, you need support-"

"I don't want your money."

"You can't go on living like this-"

"Like what?"

"Like some kind of _junkie_!"

Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands, "So that's why you came here, to lecture me again?"

"No, I came here to tell you I'm here if you need me."

"I don't need you. I have John."

"And you really think he'll stick around do you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"This is not exactly an everyday thing Sherlock. What's happened to you…it's unnatural. I know you think him some kind of hero but at the end of the day John Watson is just another human being. He will get bored."

"No…" John had never heard Sherlock so close to tears.

"He will get bored Sherlock. And eventually he will leave like all the rest."

There was a pause, while Sherlock pulled himself together and turned back to face his brother.

"You're wrong. John loves me. He's probably the first person that has ever loved me. We are having a baby together, natural or unnatural. And you're just going to have to sit down and put up with it."

Mycroft shook his head as Sherlock started walking in the direction of the kitchen, "Stubborn as a mule...just like father."

The word 'father' seemed to make Sherlock's body freeze and for a moment John expected him to turn around and smash his brother across the face.

"_What_ did you say?"

"I know you don't want to admit it, but you and father...you are not that different-"

"I am nothing like that-that _bastard._"

"Sherlock-"

"He was an _animal_! What he did to us, what he did to our _dog_!" Sherlock stopped himself, steadying his breathing. When he spoke, his voice was calm, "Now, unless you have anything else to lecture me on, I'd like you to leave."

John quickly gathered up Gladstone and dodged into the darkness as Mycroft's footsteps headed towards the door. Before he turned the handle, John heard him say;

"You are falling Sherlock and this time I won't be able to pull you back up."

John hunched up and Mycroft walked past him and down the stairs. When he heard the front door close, he peeped through the crack again to see Sherlock had sunk to his knees, his hand rubbing over his swollen stomach whilst the other entangled itself into his hair.

All the while he was weeping like a child that had lost its pet.


	9. The past unfolds

Walking gave John time to clear his head.

Everything Mycroft said…what if he was _right_?

I mean, he may not be bored now but when the baby was born…would he really stick around?

Sherlock wasn't exactly boring. He was forever on his feet, forever running after criminals, always ruining things, exploding things and setting things on fire. No, life wasn't exactly _boring_with Sherlock Holmes. But what if the baby changed him? Not only physically but mentally he was changing; he was always tired now and there were even days when he just wanted to lie in bed and do nothing. That was a side of Sherlock that John had never seen before. What if it continued after the baby was born...?

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Gladstone had wandered off and he only needed to call him once before he came running back to him, tripping clumsily on the way.

"I don't know" he muttered to him, "What should I do? Should I stay with him?"

Coincidently, Gladstone barked and dripped slaver everywhere and it only took John a second to realise it was now _him_ having a heart to heart with a dog. He shook his head at his own stupidity. Then he turned around and started walking back to 221B Baker Street, Gladstone trailing after him.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock…what happened to Winston?"<p>

There was a pause and Sherlock stopped sending emails to Lestrade.

He sighed, "I knew you'd ask eventually."

He beckoned John to the bedroom and when they were in there, pulled a safe out from under his bed. This confused John as the only thing Sherlock used the safe for was money or copies of Lestrade's police ID. The detective pulled a photo album out of the safe and rested it on the bed, patting the bed for John to sit down.

"It's been years since I looked at this."

"I can tell," John coughed at the dust.

The first few pages were of Sherlock's parents, their wedding, their honeymoon and when his mother was pregnant with Mycroft.

"Your mother was pretty," John said.

"Yeah, she was."

The next few were of a small, chubby looking boy with a wisp of brown hair.

"Mycroft…"

"Yep, that's him."

John laughed at the next photo, of two boys fighting over what looked like a piece of toffee.

"I was only a few months old," Sherlock said with faint amusement in his voice, "But I still knew how to get my brother to piss off."

The next few were of Mycroft and Sherlock growing up. Whilst flicking through, John noticed a sort of pattern. The young Sherlock seemed to get more and more miserable as he got older. Whenever he was in a picture with his mother, he'd be perfectly fine, he looked like a normal child. But when standing with his father…he looked like he didn't want to be there.

"Is that Winston?" John pointed to the Alsatian which stood proudly by Sherlock's side. The detective's face fell a little.

"Yes…he was a wonderful dog."

There was a moment of silence before Sherlock interrupted it with yet another odd question.

"What's the cruelest thing you've ever seen John?"

"The cruelest thing I've ever seen?"

"Something that really haunts you. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Afghanistan but I'd still like to know."

John took a deep breath, "Actually, you're wrong."

This wasn't something Sherlock was used to hearing.

"What?"

"It has nothing to do with Afghanistan. It happened when I was a child."

"Go on."

"…I watched a group of boys try to drown a bunch of newborn kittens in a river."

Sherlock's face was the pure picture of disgust "That's _horrible._"

"They stole them from the mother cat and tied them in a bag and…well…I jumped in after them and got them out. Not all of them survived though…"

"…I was too late to save Winston."

"What happened to him?"

"Have you ever seen a man kick a dog John?"

John blinked in shock "What kind of man kicks a dog?"

"…it was all my fault."

"Tell me Sherl," John started rubbing the detective's shoulders, "It's okay, you can tell me anything."

Sherlock paused for a second and shakily he began.

* * *

><p>"Mummy was sick. I don't know exactly what she had - I think it was HIV but I can't be certain. All I knew was that it was killing her. My father got angry at me whenever I tried to go near her; whenever she held out a hand for me to take he would yell at me to stay away, incase I got sick too. I know it sounds like he cared about me, but he just couldn't bear to lose his punchbag.<p>

That's all I was to him. He'd beat me whenever I did anything childishly wrong or sometimes just to release his anger. He didn't punish me like a parent punishes a child; he punished me how a man punishes a dog. With whatever object he could grab or with his own hands if he couldn't be bothered. He rarely beat me when Mycroft was around - something told me he was afraid of him; Mycroft was young but he was stronger than he looked. He knew what father was doing to me, but he never did anything about it. After I while, I realised he didn't give a damn about me. He was too preoccupied with work to be thinking of his little brother.

Winston was my best friend in those dark days. He would defend me whenever he had the chance and most of the time my father kept away. Even he wasn't foolish enough to challenge a dog that size. I think Winston was the reason I'm still here today John. Without him, God, I would be up there with Einstein. You want to know what happened to Winston? Let's just say he was murdered. I know they don't normally use that term for animals but that's what it was. Cold blooded murder.

I had tried to approach my mother again. She was getting worse and I knew she was looking at her last days, she was so frail. She'd held out a hand to me, something which she knew was risky when my father was around. I'd foolishly reached out towards her and was inches away from touching her when my father seemed to spring out of nowhere and grab me. I can still remember his voice.

"What did I tell you? Stay away, you hear? Stay away. You'll get sick, you'll get infected, so stay away from her!"

Winston started barking, something he always did when I was in trouble. That gave me time to sink my teeth into the man's arm, in the place where it hurt most. God, he yelled like a cat with it's tail in the door. I remember…I ran out into the garden and hid in the bushes…and I hear him calling for me, his voice already slurred by beer. Winston was still barking.

"Shut up."

He wouldn't stop. Winston was like that.

"Fucking dog, shut up!"

And he kicked him.

Once in the back.

I heard a snap and the feeling was suddenly lost in my legs.

And he kicked him again.

A clean kick which made his spine snap.

I turned around and vomited, not caring if he could hear me. This was the first time I'd properly cried since being an infant. As I watched my beloved dog crawl towards me, a half dead, crippled mess. He was whining, begging me to stop the pain. He couldn't even stand. I knelt to his side and put his head on my lap, and he looked at me, as if it was my fault. At that moment I knew the only thing keeping me alive was now dying right there in my arms.

"Leave it."

I looked up and saw the smug poked face of the man who was supposedly my father, swigging more beer down its throat. He muttered those words again.

"Leave it."


	10. Sherlock's hiding something

No words could describe the amount of emotion John Watson felt at that very moment. This had to be one of the most gut wrenching stories he'd ever heard. As a doctor, he'd listened to many tragic tales of the past; domestic abuse, neglect, murder in the family. But the idea of a child watching their beloved pet, their only glint of hope crawl dying towards them…well, it brought tears that rolled down his face. Sherlock may have been…well, _irregular_ but he was meaningful and he had a heart. John was now certain of that.

"Sherl," he said, drying his eyes and wrapping his arms around the detective's waist, "it wasn't your fault."

"I should have done something," Sherlock shut the album and tossed it onto the floor as if he could not bear looking at it.

"You were a _child_ Sherlock, you were traumatized and confused. And that's _his_ fault, not yours," then there was a pause, "What did Mycroft do?"

"He didn't do anything, per usual."

"And your mother?"

"She died two months later."

"And she left you with _him_?"

Sherlock nodded grimly, his eyes darkening a little.

"And then what?"

"I…I ran away…"

"Where did you go?"

"I wandered around the streets for a few years…then Mrs Hudson took me in," he smiled, "I have a lot to thank her for."

"Yeah I guess you do," John shifted uncomfortably, "So that's why you and Mycroft don't get on?"

Sherlock nodded but there was something else lingering in his eyes, something he wasn't telling John. The doctor sensed this.

"Sherl…is there anything else you want to tell me?"

Sherlock paused and John was certain he saw hesitation flicker across the detective's eyes. But then a thin smile.

"No" he said quietly, "Nothing…"

Respecting his privacy, John didn't push Sherlock; even though he knew he was lying and that there was something else bugging him. But he decided to wait until Sherlock was ready to open up.

"It wasn't your fault Sherl," John said quietly, "Okay?"

Sherlock nodded unconvincingly as John patted his knee and went to feed Gladstone. As soon as he was gone, Sherlock pulled out a penknife which he kept hidden in his pocket, took out the picture of his father from the album and started tearing out his face, fragments of paper spraying freely about the room like drops of blood.


	11. Lestrade's reaction

"You're _pregnant_?"

Sherlock glanced at John and nodded. Lestrade leaned back in his chair, trying to piece together all the information that had just come to light. Behind him, Sally Donovan raised her eyebrows in the perfect picture of amusement. Had it been anyone else, she would have been shocked. But this was Sherlock Holmes – the _freak_ – it was bound to have happened someday.

"So…" she said, stifling a laugh, "…when's the big day?"

Sherlock glared at her, "Last week of August, if you _must_ know."

John shot an apologetic glance at her, but her eyes just replied "_Don't worry, I'm used to this._"

At this point they noticed that Lestrade had turned a funny pale colour and had not said a word since Sherlock had confirmed his suspicions.

"Are you alright?" John asked, peering at him.

"I'm fine," he replied weakly.

Even Sally wasn't fast enough to catch him as he fell sideways and out of his chair.

* * *

><p>"Is he <em>dead<em>?"

"No, he's breathing."

"What happened?"

"Apparently, he can't cope with the sight of a pregnant man."

"_Or_ he just fainted from the shock."

"I think it's the latter," Lestrade groaned, attempting to open his eyes. The consulting detective, the doctor and Sgt. Donovan were crouched over him, not the best thing to wake up to.

"I'm sorry if my announcement did any permanent damage," Sherlock said, reaching out a hand to help the man up. Just as he was about to tighten his grip on the detective inspector's wrist, he doubled up and suddenly clutched his stomach. John took his place and managed to help Sally haul Lestrade from the floor as Sherlock seated himself back onto a chair, his breathing coming out in short bursts.

Sally frowned, "What's up with him?"

"Contractions," Sherlock muttered grimly, "Also, the baby kicks like a bloody mule."

"Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet," John knew how Sherlock was getting tired of answering at question.

"Have you seen it yet?"

"Seen it?"

"You know…have you had an ultrasound test or something?"

"Do you really think that would work on _me_? Have you forgotten how unique this case is? You haven't forgotten that I am a _man_, have you?" Sherlock snapped, doubling up again.

Sally glanced at John who simply mouthed, "_Hormones_"

The sergeant decided it was easier talking to John as Sherlock seemed to have the most outrageous etiquette towards people when it came to answering simple questions. Mind you, _none_ of this was simple. Sherlock Holmes wasn't simple.

"What are you going to call…_it_?"

Sherlock opened his mouth, as if to protest to his baby being called 'it' but John intercepted.

"James if it's a boy and Amelia if it's a girl."

"Bit old fashioned aren't they?"

John pulled a face and Sherlock jumped in before he could be stopped.

"That's rich coming from a girl who's name means princess and has a popularity rank of less than three hundred."

"And how did you work that one out, _freak_?"

"I can deduct more than the content of your pitiful brain, _Sally._"

Before an argument could spring up, Lestrade asked a question that surprised them all to silence.

"Can I touch it?"

Sherlock blinked then seemed to hesitate; the only person he really let touch his baby was John. The doctor knew too well what a mother hen Sherlock was to his unborn son or daughter. But this was Lestrade. Sherlock gently took the man's hand and placed it on his heaving stomach. To Lestrade, it felt like something was fluttering inside the detective's tummy, like bubbles were floating up to the top of his abdomen and slowly bursting at the surface. Then a direct kick landed in the centre of Lestrade's palm, making him jump.

John raised his eyebrows, "Baby likes you."


	12. Kicking like a mule

"God, why do you have to_ hurt_ so much?"

John was distracted from his writing as Sherlock's agonized curses to his stomach got louder, making the task of blogging too difficult to continue. He was about to go to the detective's side when the curses were suddenly directed to him.

"This is all your bloody fault!" Sherlock hollered at him, "Knocking me up, getting me pregnant…"

John allowed him to mutter angrily to himself and pace up and down the room as if he were stalking a prey of some kind. There was no stopping the hormones when they kicked in. He'd just done his third round of mouthing off about anything and everything when the phone went off. Sherlock turned and looked daggers at the small doctor, making him scurry to the phone to avoid that blazing glare.

"Hello…_Anderson_?"

At that name, Sherlock almost growled like an angry dog, only to be interrupted by the familiar kicking feeling.

"What is it…? _What?_ And you didn't get him?"

Had Sherlock been strong enough he would have thrown a confused look at John. All he could manage was a pained gasp.

"Moriarty's out there, don't you _dare_ start on Sherlock and the baby!" John was near shouting now.

Sherlock threw himself onto the sofa, praying to a God he didn't believe in.

"That man is free and he's going to kill _my_ Sherlock and _my_ baby, and you're lecturing me about my_ temper_?"

"JOHN!"

This ear splitting roar from the other side of the room distracted John and he said a rushed goodbye to Anderson before going to Sherlock's side. The look on Sherlock's face…it was so unlike him…it looked as if he was truly scared out of his wits. The detective doubled up and stammered whatever was able to leave his lips, "John...I'm sorry...not your fault...Moriarty?"

"Ssh..." John did his best to calm the man, gently running a hand over his stomach, "Try to relax."

The pain seemed to be killing Sherlock; he looked like he'd been drenched in a bath; he was shaking and tears rolled down his face unrestrained. In Afghanistan, John had calmed a pregnant woman who was giving birth in the middle of a raid; the technique he had used was a light massage of the abdomen. He wasn't certain if it worked with this sort of situation but it was worth a try. He lifted the hem of Sherlock's shirt and gently began rubbing his fingers in circles around the detective's stomach. Sherlock still whined in his anguish but the rubbing seemed to be having some effect as the agonized moans lessened and were replaced with more content groaning. John continued until Sherlock had his eyes closed and seemed half asleep, his breathing had slowed to a normal pace. When John tried to move his hands away, Sherlock pulled them back.

"Don't stop..."

John resumed in rubbing while Sherlock sighed in contentment; the pain seemed to have eased completely. After a while, the sociopath opened his weary eyes.

"He's escaped...hasn't he?"

John sighed and nodded.

"Bloody Scotland Yard," and then he added, "You won't let him hurt either of us will you?"

John felt doubtful but the sight of Sherlock's eyes turning moist made him determined to stay strong, if not for Sherlock, for their child.

"Never," he said firmly, letting the detective wrap his arms around his neck and cling to him.

As Sherlock dug his face into John's neck, an amplified voice reverberated through from the street.

"Bit late for that, _Johnny boy._"


	13. Sentimental

The clinging on John got tighter as the laughter that still sent chills down his spine rang through the house. They could hear Mrs. Hudson scurrying around below, no doubt calling Lestrade. But Lestrade wouldn't get there in time, Sherlock was sure of that. Moriarty worked quickly. Gladstone was on his feet, his hackles were up and he was growling; flashbacks of Winston standing in the same position came back too quickly to Sherlock and he quickly held out an arm to make the dog sit.

That voice shook through him, words barely registering.

"Dogs and babies really shouldn't mix Sherly. You've been a _very_ naughty boy."

At this, Sherlock whimpered and John held him closer.

He could almost hear the smile in Moriarty's voice as he taunted "You really thought I'd let _Johnny boy_ take my place? You're _mine_ Sherlock…and you know it."

And there he was, standing on the stairs. Same suit, same mad eyes, but the smile was different. The smile wasn't manic or sly or flirtatious even. The smile was far too close to John's; he didn't look menacing or even as if he was going to hurt him. The smile made him feel as if he was the only thing Moriaty could see.

"No sudden movements. I'm going to have my fun with you Sherlock. And John Watson isn't going to stand in my way."

The red dot that appeared on John's forehead confirmed the detective's suspicions. Sherlock reluctantly freed himself from Johns arms and planted a soft kiss on his lips, ignoring the small sound of disgust that burst from Moriarty's lips. It was like they kissed for a lifetime, for Sherlock knew this could be the last time they ever would. Yet, far too soon, it was over. Jim reached out an arm and Sherlock took it; he needed help to get up now and if Jim was offering he'd take it gladly.

Sherlock, too preoccupied with not falling, managed to miss the smirk Moriarty sent towards John, proclaiming his rightful place at Sherlock Holmes' side. He did however notice when Jim stood and stared down at Gladstone.

"I must warn you," he said as he gazed down at the snarling creature. It reminded him too much of a certain consulting detective, "I'm a cat person."

Before Sherlock could move, Moriarty had already delivered a well aimed kick to the middle of Gladstone's spine, completely knocking him off his feet. Sherlock winced, forcing back the upcoming tears as far too many memories forced their way into his head. All of a sudden he was nine again, and he was watching Winston crawl towards him…

And Gladstone did the same, as he clawed his way towards Sherlock and collapsed at his feet, their eyes meeting as he begged the human to silently help him. Sherlock knew if dogs could cry, he'd have flooded the room. And he knew, inside Gladstone's silent world there were a thousand screams for help, that came out as mere whimpers.

"_Really_, Sherlock. Pregnancy's turning you soft. Don't go all sentimental on me - I've had enough of that with Soppy United back there. Mind you, sentimentality is a common thing between owners and their _pets_."

Sherlock said nothing, which was unusual as he normally had a retaliation to Moriarty's snide comments. He flicked his head towards John and Gladstone took the hint, crawling over to the relatively safer doctor who gathered him up in his arms. As the door swung shut Sherlock glimpsed a tear slide its way down his bloggers cheek.


	14. More alike than we thought

Sherlock sat timidly in the middle of the bed he and John had been sharing for the last three months. It felt so empty without John. He now longed for the doctor's company more than ever, especially with those ice cold eyes piercing him from the shadowy corner of the room. Sherlock Holmes was not one to admit when he was afraid; fear was an emotion he rarely felt. And he especially did not fear Moriarty. No…it was not himself he feared for. Moriarty could do whatever he wanted to him; torture him, taunt him, play with him like he had the first time they'd met, but that wouldn't matter. The welfare of his child was now his main priority.

"Let me touch him."

The detective stiffened and hesitantly looked into those joyless eyes. The thought of those hands on his body…it made him wretch. And why did he call it a _he_? How would he know?

"Not until you tell me why you're here."

"You really need me to tell you? Where are all your deductions, all the data? Anyway I have a better question- why are you naming him_ James_?"

Sherlock bent his head, as if ashamed, "Why do you_ think_?"

To his surprise, Moriarty laughed.

"We were good Sherlock, we were very good. Before all the consulting came along, we were just as good as you and your 'pet'. Now no one would believe you'd consorted with James Moriarty, would they? No one would believe that the guy who always fought for the angels consulted with the Devil himself."

"I'm not going to talk to you about_ then._"

"Do you remember that night Sherlock? When all the magic happened? And you – _finally_ – let go. And you weren't Sherlock Holmes and I wasn't James Moriarty for one...whole...hour."

"I was _fifteen_ Jim. You didn't have the right-"

"But Sherlock my dear, you know I'm not one to waste time! You were young…you were_ fresh_…"

"Stop it-"

"But I can do what I want with you. You know you can never stop me. Do you remember Sherlock? When you always quivered at the thought of children? You'd always turn yourself off whenever I spoke about settling down and having kids. And here you are knocked up like those nightmares you used to go on about. This time you won't let me stop the nightmares will you? Little James, waiting to see you. Will he know about me, his namesake, the reason behind his name? Or will he hear bedtime stories about the evil Moriarty and his daddies always saving the day? The past is catching up, my dear, and you can't run fast enough for two. So…let me feel him. I have a right to touch _my_ son."

"He's _not_ yours-"

"Oh, but you know he should be. You'd let me near him if you didn't believe he should be mine."

Sherlock felt himself trembling. His voice was shaky, making Moriarty more satisfied.

"But-but what if you're wrong? What if it's a girl?"

"Don't play games with me Sherlock. We _both_ know you're not capable of that."

"But we can't know for sure. Conventional methods wouldn't-"

"Calm, Sherly! It's hunch and a bouncing baby boy would be _way_ more cute. I mean it though."

"Mean what, Jim?" Sherlock was already tiring of talking to him but he was curious in his own dim, sleepy way.

"I want to touch him….please."

Sherlock looked up, this was the politest Moriarty had been since uni.

"This is the closest I'll ever get to him right now. I know you and Johnny will protect him to death, but I just need to… please. Sherlock."

Sherlock couldn't see Jim's eyes and for that he was glad. He didn't want those memories anywhere near the forefront of his mind. He knew that to deny Jim what he wanted was not a good idea but still, it was his baby. He realized Jim was waiting for an answer and he had never been a patient man. Making his decision, he closed his eyes and nodded once, lifting his shirt to expose his now rather swollen stomach. He tried not to shudder as he heard the footsteps drawing closer, then the cold hand that made him gasp, his eyes opening for a second, glimpsing an altogether alien emotion on Jim's face. It seemed almost awed but he dismissed it as a fiction. Nothing made Jim Moriarty awestruck. Not any more.

"How long?" Jim's voice was merely a whisper.

"Three months."

"An August baby…like me."

"Don't you _dare_ liken my child to you."

"But he will be like me…in _so_ many ways."

There was still an unanswered question lingering in Sherlock's weary mind.

"How can you be so sure Jim? How can you know?"

"That it's a boy? Like I said, a hunch….and a dream."

"The Great James Moriarty using a dream as evidence? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Cut the sarcasm Sherl. Or have you already grown bored of your "pet" downstairs?"

Sherlock recoiled. He hadn't been thinking about John. He needed to get Jim out of here, get John safe, get Blue safe, get the baby safe. As thoughts whirred in his suddenly alert mind, Jim carried on talking.

"I wonder if he'll look like you or him…or _me_ even," that statement followed with a smirk.

"He has _nothing_ to do with you."

"Oh but he _does_, Sherly, he does. More than you can imagine." That smile was a reminder of times long buried as Jim leaned toward him and Sherlock knew exactly where this was going because, of course, it had happened all before.

Before he knew what was happening, Jim had taken his hands off his swollen stomach and was descending towards him. He wasn't fighting but he couldn't remember why, fatigue stealing any reason left in his head. Everything was Moriarty and Jim was close, far too close…


	15. The magic of Jim Moriarty

There had been no permanent damage done to Gladstone's back but the dog was still in a fragile position and moving him could cause damage. John Watson was no veterinarian, but he knew a fractured spine when he saw one. He still hadn't heard anything from upstairs for a while but he worried – a psychopath was in the same room as the man he loved and the baby he wanted to see be born. He was tired of waiting. He needed to do something. The small red dot still hovered over his forehead but he didn't care anymore; the value of his life was not as important as Sherlock's or the baby's.

He rested the dog back onto the sofa and tried to figure out an escape route. Moriarty was clever; just as clever as his Sherlock. But he'd been around Sherlock long enough to know that pride sometimes got the better of him. He just hoped the same went for Moriarty.

* * *

><p>"Jim…" Sherlock stopped the man before he reached his lips, "what are you doing?"<p>

"You know what I'm doing."

"But why-?"

"You know why. We need each other Sherlock. With _my_ great mind and _your_ brilliant deduction skills we could do anything we want. We could destroy the monarchy, overthrow the British Government, even get rid of that pesky brother of yours. We can do all that Sherlock_ and_ have a kid. I mean _think_ about it. We could rule the world Sherlock, have every British citizen at our feet. You can be the respected consulting detective you deserve to be. Is that what you want Sherlock? Or do you want to go back to being the _freak_?"

Sherlock felt his heart wrench, "But…but what about John?"

"He's safe, I promise you. I'm not going to hurt him. You know that already. I didn't come here to hurt anybody - for once. I just wanted to talk to you."

Sherlock nodded, still too afraid to look Moriarty in the eyes.

"I know how you feel about him Sherl. But you have to remember...he isn't like us. Mycroft's right, he'll get bored."

"How did you-?"

The man scoffed, "I've been listening to you for a _long_ time Sherly. I thought you would have figured it out by now."

"I've had other things on my mind."

"Yeah," for a moment the expression on Jim's face was almost that of regret, "Yeah I know…"

He was still for a moment, just staring at what seemed to be blind ecstasy. And for a moment, Sherlock saw another side to Jim Moriarty, something more gentle and less threatening…and even _weak_ about him. All of a sudden, it was as if something passed between them, a small feeling of gratitude or even respect for one another…

"You're staring Sherl."

Sherlock blinked and he was back in the room. Jim was looking at him. The coldness returned.

"Come with me Sherlock."

Sherlock's bottom lip trembled, "I-I can't…"

"You can Sherl…" Jim leaned forwards again, back towards the detective's lips, "…just come with me…"

It was like a magnet, Sherlock could feel himself slipping, falling back into Moriarty's arms. Like when he was young, when he was a foolish teenager hopelessly in love and Moriarty had taken advantage of him. God, why was he so irresistable? Why was the man he knew he should hate so…he couldn't find the words…_beautiful_?

They were inches away from each other before a gunshot rung from downstairs. At the sound of it, Sherlock's eyes widened and diverted to the direction of the door.

He'd done it, he'd fallen for Moriarty's tricks. And now John Watson, the man he loved and cared for, was surely dead.


	16. Misreading the signs

Unable to sit still any longer, John had thrown himself forwards. Later, he would define it as an attempt to go against expectations but at that moment he just wanted to see Sherlock. He stopped in his hasty retreat when the laser dot didn't move, nor did it follow him. It just stayed there; bouncing off the wall. Something told him all was not what it seemed but still, he had to be sure.

He'd moved the location of his gun once Sherlock had stopped moving around so much making him liable to shoot walls, not a good thing for anyone he mused. He was glad as, at that moment, it was jammed between the banisters halfway up the stairs. He cautiously made his way to the staircase and pulled the weapon from between the two pieces of iron. He returned to the living room to see the position of the red dot had not moved at all. It was coming from somewhere. Somewhere behind the opposite wall. If there _was_ a sniper there, they were either blind, deaf or had fallen asleep.

Without hesitation, John withdrew and shot once, the bullet shooting through the target so it exploded into splinters.

He tracked where the laser was coming from and poked at the cleverly disguised laser pointer, concealed in the most unlikely of places. Sherlock's skull, or his 'friend' as he called it, which was now embedded in pieces. John cursed under his breath; it was fake and Sherlock had gone thinking he was in danger. Then he actually thought about it and realised that Sherlock _must _have known, he was too clever to be outsmarted by anything _Moriarty _cooked up. There was no way he'd mistake a fake laser for a sniper.

He had _wanted_ to talk to Moriarty…

He tried to make himself forget that train of thought. He needed to be thinking clearly to save Sherlock; he couldn't let anger or jealously or downright confusion cloud his judgment. Sherlock and their baby were in danger and he was going to save them. He _had_ to.

* * *

><p>"<em>Liar...<em>"

That was all Sherlock could breathe at that moment. The feeling was already there. The feeling of sheer stupidity, the feeling that he'd lost everything. And why, _why_ had he lost everything? Because of Jim Moriarty that's why. No...not just Moriarty…because of him. Because he'd been foolish enough to think for a second that Moriarty actually had a speck of good in him.

But _how_? Sherlock could deduct things from a mile away and he was certain the sniper was a fake. Everything about it, the position it was in, the way it hardly moved…it _had_ to be a fake laser. He was certain of it…

He was wrong…

But he was _never_ wrong…

All the colour seemed to have drained from Jim's face as he too turned to stare at the door. This hadn't been part of the plan. He looked back at the detective only to be met by a blazing glare. And it wasn't the hormones doing it this time.

"Sherl…"

"You're a liar!"

He suddenly found the feeling in his arms again and he shoved the man in the chest so he was well away from him. Jim looked ashen, he was pale all over and beginning to shake, something which Sherlock had never seen him do. This was fear; without any doubt.

"This wasn't meant to happen…"

"You said no one would get hurt."

"No one was _meant_ to get-"

"I should have known. Jim Moriarty, always was a liar and always will be."

"But it wasn't real! There was no-"

"I can't believe for a moment I thought there was actually a shred of good in you. Shows what a fool I really am."

"It was all a setup Sherlock, _look_!" he took a small remote from his pocket, "This controlled the laser. There is no sniper, there wasn't meant to be-"

"So are you saying John shot _himself_?"

Jim sat there, blinded by confusion, "I don't know. I don't know what happened…"

"You really think I'd ever want to be with you Jim?" Sherlock felt nothing then, nothing but the fiery anger, "You and me…were the biggest mistake I have ever made."

"Shut up," Jim was rocking himself, his eyes insanely wide, sweat beginning to bead his forehead.

"This baby has nothing to do with you, and it never will. This is my son and he belongs to John Watson. And as for _you_…this baby will _never_ hear your name. You are dead to it and you are dead to me."

"Shut up!"

The weight that pushed Sherlock down almost knocked all the breath out of him. Jim pinned his arms down; the so called psychopath was stronger than he looked. Sherlock wriggled a few times to try and escape but he held on. Forced to stare into those cold, dark eyes, Sherlock muttered.

"I hate you."

A grin.

"No you don't," Moriarty's lips were touching the dark haired man's, "You _love_ me."

Then the door burst open and a shot fired through the air loud enough to make ears bleed.

* * *

><p>John had made sure that Gladstone was in a safe position before taking his gun and walking quietly up the stairs. He knew that if the physcopath sensed his presence it would be curtains for both him and Sherlock, depending whether Moriarty was armed or not. He kept a finger on the trigger as he descended towards his own bedroom which he'd recently been sharing with Sherlock. He could hear voices inside, but they were too muffled to be able to make out.<p>

There was sudden movement, the sound of someone launching themselves on another and the sound of Sherlock gasping. John ached to burst in and shoot Moriarty there and then but he needed to be patient, incase the laser in the skull was just a diversion and there really was a sniper lingering somewhere. Instead he peered through the keyhole, hoping Sherlock was alright and that he'd managed to keep Moriarty at bay.

What he saw made it clear (to him at least) what was _really_ going on.

He wasn't one for deduction but the way they were lying next to each other, the way they were looking at each other…it looked like Moriarty was leaning in for a kiss…and Sherlock wasn't resisting. It didn't look forced, despite the fact Moriarty's hands were holding down Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock wasn't resisting in any way. And the look in his eye…it was almost a look of desire and everlasting _lust_. It was a look he'd never given John before. And the doctor realised. It was only a look he gave Moriarty.

A sudden horrid feeling came onto John. The feeling of being cheated. So this was it? Sherlock went and said all those great things about him, kissed him, made him feel special…but no, it was all part of the game wasn't it? Tears began to spark the doctor's eyes when he realised the only person Sherlock would ever love was James Moriarty. So _that's_ what he'd been hiding.

John didn't need to think twice after that.

He burst into the room and fired the closest he could to Moriarty's head, hoping it would explode and decorate the walls with his blood. Unfortunately, his shaking hands caused him to miss and the pair on the bed froze in their positions.

John stared at his lover, lowering the gun and placing it at his side, his finger still on the trigger as if he intended on shooting again. Sherlock hated that look. Not the look of anger or sadness. But as the police cars drew up outside, their sirens ringing and blue lights flashing, Sherlock saw John give him the look of utter betrayal.


	17. The actions of John Watson

There were no words. No words Sherlock could say.

He didn't even look in John's direction when he gave his statement to the police, or as they watched Moriarty being carted into the back of a police van. John could see it again, as Jim was shoved behind the barred doors. That look of desire that passed between him and Sherlock. The criminal lifted his hand and waved in the detective's direction as the van drove out of sight. And even then…there was still this connection between them.

Feeling sick, Sherlock excused himself from talking to Lestrade and went into the bedroom where he sat on his bed for hours; head in his hands whilst he thought about everything that had just happened to him, hoping it was some kind of nightmare. He didn't look up when John entered the room and stood there, watching him from the door. The silence was unbearable as John slowly descended towards the dark-haired detective, never taking his eye off him. The look on his face could have frozen water. Sherlock was the exact opposite. It was like a complete switch of roles. He could not bear to look John in the eye; for he knew if he did all the hurt and regret would come pouring out and Sherlock was a proud man.

Cautiously, he lifted his head and it was then that he could see all the anger and resentment burning in the doctor's eyes, everything the man was feeling hit Sherlock like one of Moriaty's bombs. John stared down at the detective below him and for once he was not taken by those sky blue eyes. The back of his hand shot out, meeting the side of Sherlock's face, so that the detective fell sideways on the bed. Sherlock gasped, his cheek blazing scarlet, his eyes desperately trying to blink back the agonised tears. But he made no retaliation. Instead he just looked back up at John, who was staring at his hand as if it was a wild animal and muttered;

"I accept that Dr Watson…" then more tearfully, "…I accept that."

These were the few words that made John Watson realise what a monster he had been. A monster for not trusting Sherlock, for hitting him whilst he was _pregnant_. Sherlock hadn't called him Dr Watson since…well…since they first met. This sudden formality made his eyes well up.

"I'm sorry…" he gasped as tears rolled down his face, "…I'm sorry…"

That night, after they'd made their last statement to the police, the two of them sat on the living room sofa while Sherlock told him what really occurred in the room, every disturbing detail.

When he began to cry, John kissed his face and held him in his arms for the rest of the night.


	18. Distracted

The next few months were torture for Sherlock.

He was now eight months pregnant, the baby was due shortly and Moriarty had escaped from custody – again. He slammed the morning paper onto the coffee table, wishing his former lover's face was not sprawled all over the main headlines. John didn't say anything, he just flicked through the TV channels as reports of Moriarty's escape spread across the news. Not that this was anything new, Moriarty always escaped. Sherlock stared at the black and white photograph of Moriarty grinning like a madman, hoping it would burst into flames and disintegrate if he glared hard enough.

"How's Gladstone?" he asked, trying to distract himself.

"Needed another check up just to be safe. The vet's keeping him overnight," John flicked the TV off "The bastard almost broke his back."

Sherlock winced and John decided to change the subject.

"Did the baby kick anymore today?'

"He did a bit this morning, but it's fine now."

"He?"

Sherlock paused, realising what he'd just said. John's eyebrows knitted together.

"I thought you didn't know the baby's gender."

"I, erm…"

"Wait, don't tell me…"

Sherlock watched him anxiously

"…you deducted it, didn't you?"

Sherlock almost sighed with relief, "Yes…well, I just thought it'd be nice to have a boy, that's all."

John shrugged, "I don't know, I wouldn't mind a little girl myself."

The phone interrupted them and John left to answer, leaving Sherlock alone with the bump. Sherlock looked down at his stomach as if he could right through it, to the unborn child.

"I hope you realise this is all _your_ fault." he muttered, "Just look at all the trouble you've caused! Because of you a maniac is on the loose, my love life is falling apart and I can't get any decent nicotine patches to help myself think!"

He stopped when John re-entered and Sherlock noticed immediately that something had changed in his face. It didn't take him long to figure out what was wrong.

**His hands**: They were physically shaking and his fingertips had some loose skin on them. He had been biting his nails, something the doctor never did unless he was in deep concentration or he was nervous.

**His forehead:** Beaded with sweat. Something had shocked him deeply.

**His eyes: **Dilated pupils. Sockets glassed over.

Someone had died. But even Sherlock couldn't deduct who it was.

"John…?"

"Dead…" the doctor let the tears fall, "…Harry's dead…"

* * *

><p>"Shot right in the head," Lestrade crouched next to Harry Watson's body, "Terrible way to go. I'm so sorry John."<p>

The doctor said nothing in reply; he just stared at the lifeless corpse that once was his baby sister and held back the sobs. Everything was going so well; Harry had been off the drink for almost a month now. She was turning her life around. She'd made up with Clara and the two were even thinking about adopting a child together…

He should have known it was never to be.

"We'll have to find the gun that killed her," Lestrade stood up next to the doctor, "Then we'll be able to track down the murderer-"

"Don't bother."

"What?"

"I already know who killed her."

* * *

><p>Sherlock was in a bad mood.<p>

John had refused to let him come with him to the crime scene. In a way he understood – it was John's sister and he probably wanted some time alone with her while he identified her body. Also at the fact he was due to give birth to this baby any day now and a man going into labour in the middle of London would do more than raise a few eyebrows.

But he was bored.

Oh so _bored_…

He sighed and rolled onto his side, only to be met with a familiar kicking feeling. This baby never gave him a break.

"It's okay," he started copying John's method of rubbing is stomach in circles, "I'm here. I'm not going away, unfortunately."

He felt a right idiot but almost instantly the kicking ceased and he relaxed, closing his eyes to go to sleep. He suddenly felt something crackle under his pillow as he rested his head on it. He felt underneath and found an envelope with a small heart on the front of it. The aroma hit him at once and he took a sniff, grimacing.

_Cat blood._

Cautiously, he opened the letter, smoothing out the paper onto the bedsheets.

It too was written in blood.

Sherlock could feel his eyes widening, until he felt they had fall out.

_If I can't have him, no one will..._

And when Sherlock glanced down, a red dot had already appeared on his stomach.

The bang was so loud it could have shattered glass.


	19. Kidnap

John just wanted to smash everything up. Everything and everybody. He couldn't stand the faces, staring at him sympathetically, whispering words behind his back. All of a sudden it was like Afghanistan all over again. All the chaos and confusion. He could barely keep himself together as he was forced to identify Harry's body. He didn't see what the point was. He already knew it was her. Same brown hair which was slightly blonde at the tips, same freckled nose, same beauty mark on her neck. But he didn't need the tell-tale signs to recognise his own sister. Part of him knew the police were just doing their job, but still...

Lestrade had set out a full investigation; every policeman in London was searching every abandoned warehouse or secret hiding place a deranged criminal would think of hiding. John knew it was Moriarty who had done it. It could only have been Moriarty. Only he could have got in there and out of there without being seen. Well, it obviously wasn't Moriarty _himself_. He was too much of a coward to kill anyone outright. It was one of his snipers. John was certain of that. But why? Why _Harry_? What had_ she_ done to Jim Moriarty?

John's thoughts were interrupted when his mobile beeped. Sherlock.

Sherlock never actually called John. He normally just sent texts. He only called when there was an…

Emergency.

He put the phone to his ear in a flash, "Sherlock?"

"John…"

The doctor could immediately tell something was wrong. Sherlock was hyperventilating and his sobs rung through John's ears like a bell. He could barely speak, he was stammering so much, his voice shaking. John found it difficult to understand what he was saying.

"Sherlock? Look calm down, what's happened?"

"He's here John…he's here…"

"Who's there Sherlock?"

"He's coming…"

"Sherlock, _who_?"

"He tried to kill me…the baby..."

It didn't take long for John to grasp what was going on.

"Are you and the baby alright?"

"He tried to shoot me."

"_Sherlock_, is the baby alright?"

"Yes, I got away. They missed. But-" he was suddenly cut off and there was a deadly silence.

"Sherlock? What's happened?"

He could hear Sherlock's breathing getting quieter, slower. And then a strangled whisper.

"He's _inside_…"

The phone went dead.

"Sherlock? _Sherlock_!"

John slammed the phone down onto the table, cursing it. It suddenly beeped again and a text appeared on the screen.

_The old warehouse. Be there._ **JM**

John felt the feeling go from his legs and he quickly grabbed his coat, making for the door just as Lestrade walked through it.

"John? Where on earth are you-?"

"Round up your SWAT team," John shouted to Lestrade over his shoulder as he ran down the hall, "Moriarty's kidnapped Sherlock. We need every man with a gun down at the old warehouse, pronto!"


	20. Run Dr Watson, before it's too late!

John ran like he had never run before.

It was like the limp in his leg no longer existed as he sped in the direction of the abandoned warehouse. There was only one warehouse desolated enough for Moriarty to hide. The one next to the river, where John sometimes took Blue for walks. No one had set foot in that place for years. The perfect hideout for a deranged maniac to hide a pregnant man. As crazy as that sounded.

John only stopped running when he arrived at the gates to the warehouse where he latched himself onto the wall and climbed over. How he made it over alive, he would never know.

"_Damn it_…" he muttered as he wiped the blood and dirt from his palms. The lengths he went to for this man, for Sherlock…but _God_, it was worth it.

He was about to enter the warehouse when he heard a sound that made him stop. A familiar sound. A bark.

He turned around and saw a daft looking bulldog standing outside the gate. It barked again and scrambled underneath, bounding towards him and almost knocking him off his feet. He blinked at the animal.

"_Gladstone?_"

The dog's tail seemed to be wagging a million times a minute; he licked John's face as if it was coated in sugar, leaving layers of slaver.

"Gladstone you stupid mutt, you're meant to be at the vet's. How did you…wait…" he peered at the dog, "Gladstone…did you _escape_?"

The dog cocked his head in reply.

"And follow me all the way here?"

He cocked it some more, eyes twinkling. John shook his head, but couldn't help a laugh coming out. Gladstone was too much like Sherlock.

Bloody hell, _Sherlock_…

Here was John grinning like an idiot when his partner and baby were trapped inside that hell hole. He got to his feet and ran inside, Gladstone scampering at his heels.

* * *

><p>When Sherlock awoke, he was alone.<p>

The room he was in was barely a room at all; it was more of a cell. There were no windows, just four large pipes poking out through the stone walls. He sat up, trying to ignore the pain that soared from his abdomen and leaned back against the wall, inhaling and exhaling deeply, trying to calm himself down. But never had he felt such helplessness, such fear.

"Having a good time?"

That _voice_. It made him leap out of his skin. He stiffened as Moriarty's voice filled the entire cell, the intercomes invisible to his vision.

"Last chance Sherly," he suddenly sounded serious,"You can come away with me. We can have little James together. And we can forget all this ever happened."

Sherlock's breathing got faster as he struggled to keep himself together. Something was wrong, something down below. But he didn't know exactly what it was. He was determined to stay strong in front of his nemisis.

"I'd rather die Jim," he called out.

Moriarty watched Sherlock. He was hidden behind the cell, watching through thermal cameras as the other man did his best not to pass out. He pressed his lips against the intercome.

"Have it your way."

Sherlock suddenly felt a drop of water splash on his forehead. Then another.

And another…

Suddenly, water exploded from one of the pipes and started flooding the room. Sherlock gasped as another pipe exploded and soon all four were overflowing the entire cell. Sherlock got to his feet but was immediately pushed back down as another wave of pain ripped through his abdomen.

And suddenly his trousers were wet.

And it wasn't the water coming from the pipes.


	21. Special delivery

Contractions.

That's what it was and it was painful, oh so _painful_.

For a moment he'd think they'd stopped and then again, another wave of pain. He slowly tried to pull himself up against the wall and to control his breathing but it was too late. His waters had broken. The baby was coming then and there.

_Stay calm Sherlock, stay calm…_

The water was rushing fast, it was already above his ankles. It was only a matter of time before…

He tried to push that thought out of his head and concentrate on getting the baby out. He slid his trousers and boxers down to his ankles, covering his waist with his coat to give himself some dignity and rested his back on the wall, moaning from the constant pain.

_John! Damn it, where the hell are you?!_

* * *

><p>Gladstone's nose was more useful than it looked. He knew at once what floor his master was on and had led John up some creaky stairs to where the pipes were kept.<p>

_Pipes_, John thought to himself, _that's not good._

The sound of running water made him worry even more.

Whilst the ex soldier and his dog stalked through the darkness, John had time to put all the pieces together. Harry's murder had all been a set up, a diversion to get John away from 221B Baker Street. Moriarty had lain in wait before John left and then attempted to kill Sherlock. And when that failed, kidnap seemed the only option. And John had fallen right into the trap. Moriarty truly was a sick, demented person who took pleasure in other people's suffering.

He stopped when he saw Moriarty, who was sitting there before the thermal cameras as if it was a magic mirror. Even from that distance, John saw that insane glint in his eye, the sign that pure madness had taken over. He cursed himself silently when he realised he'd left his gun at home. Right now he needed it more than ever. He tried to think of ways to get Moriarty out of the way. He needed a diversion.

A _diversion_…

* * *

><p>The sight of a deranged Sherlock going into labour was huge entertainment for Jim. He sat back in his chair and let out a mad cackle as he watched the helpless man cower away from the upcoming water. A small shuffling sound from behind him made him turn around and he laughed again.<p>

"Oh, it's _you_?"

Gladstone stood there, back arched, eyes drilling into that of his former attacker. It was as if he was silently telling Jim Moriarty how much he hated him.

"I guess I didn't kick hard enough last time. But that's what age does to you," obliviously he got out of his chair and started strolling over to the dog, hands in pockets, "You know, I'm very busy at the moment and the last thing I need is _you_ messing things up for me. So…" he drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it between the dog's eyes, "…bye bye doggy."

The sudden arm around his neck made the gun slip from his grasp and Gladstone quickly collected it in his mouth.

"Where's Sherlock?" John hissed into his ear.

"_Johnny_ boy, so _nice_ of you to join us."

"I'm not playing games here-"

"No, my dear Watson, you misunderstand. You_ are_ the game."

"Listen," he tightened his grip, "If you don't tell me where my partner is, I will happily break your neck in two, do you want that?"

"Alright, play nicely. If you want to see Sherlock, he's right behind you."

John turned and suddenly Sherlock's face flashed onto the camera screen. The doctor let Moriarty go and ran to where the intercom was.

"Sherl…Sherl are you okay?"

"Do I _look_ okay?" Sherlock snapped, "About time you got here!"

"Well, I've been a bit busy..."

"_You_ busy? How do you think _I_ feel?"

"Okay, okay. Just try and calm down!"

Sherlock's teeth suddenly clenched together, "It's coming John, it's coming…"

"What's com- oh god"

"Well," Moriarty suddenly interrupted and when John turned around he was already at the door, "this has all been fun but time is of the essence. Call me if you need any help finding his body," and he slipped smartly out.

John could have gone after him but Sherlock was his main priority now.

"Sherlock! Listen to me! I need you to breathe okay? Just breathe in and out."

"John, the water-"

"I'll find a way to stop it, just keep breathing!"

John looked around desperately as Sherlock agonized cries grew louder. There were no buttons, no levers, nothing that suggested a way to turn the water off. Inside the cell, the water was now up to Sherlock's waist and he'd placed himself on a pipe which was only a few meters above it. He willed the baby to come faster, he was so sick of the pain. Drops of blood were starting to rush down his legs like water.

_John Watson, I am giving birth to your son here! __**Do**__ something!_

Meanwhile John had given up trying to turn the water off and instead found an entrance to the cell. He may have not been able to turn the water off, but he could still save Sherlock. The entrance was small, so he had to crawl on his hands and knees, leaving Gladstone sitting outside obediently. When he arrived at what seemed to be a dead end, he could see some of the bricks were loose and began pulling them away gently.

The water had reached Sherlock and he closed his eyes, pushing in a more controlled and calm way than he did before.

_The head was coming out._

He continued to push, his body trembling with pain and nervousness at the task it was doing. He suddenly felt something turning and moving and he reached out and caught the newborn before it plummeted into the water. He removed his soaked coat from his waist and wrapped the little one inside as it let out it's first cry. Sherlock allowed the tears to fall down his face and he wept as he pulled his son, his little James close to him. He didn't care if he died at that moment. Even if it meant he was a father for only a few minutes, it didn't matter.

But then, just as the water had reached his waist, the pipes stopped.

Sherlock looked up in surprise as the water lay still around him and the clogging of the pipes came to an abrupt halt. Then a few bricks fell from the wall and splashed into the cell as John Watson emerged from the hole.

The first thing John saw was Sherlock looking up at him, his face wet with tears, his wet hair falling into his eyes. He looked so weak, like a scared child and he was holding something in his arms. Something small and pink and white.

Nothing could explain the feeling John felt then. The feeling as he looked down and saw his first son lying in his lover's arms.


	22. James Hamish Holmes

"Isn't he beautiful?" John said as he lay on the bed next to his son, smiling as the little one sucked happily on his forefinger.

Sherlock said nothing. Just looked at the baby with an emotionless expression on his face. Don't get him wrong, he was overjoyed that he had a son. There was this small fluttery feeling at the bottom of his stomach which made him want to leap to the heavens. But there was something holding him back. He'd only just noticed it after they'd left the warehouse days before. Lestrade had arrived at the warehouse with the SWAT team a little too late. They had searched the area for hours but there was no sign of Moriarty. It seemed the psycho had got away yet again.

John and Sherlock had gotten more than a few surprised looks as they walked out of the warehouse holding a newborn chid. When Sherlock walked up to Lestrade, he noticed – from what he deducted from the man's face – that there were small tears in his eyes. The man looked down at the baby boy, who at this moment in time seemed like a sort of grandson to him, and gently placed a kiss on those tiny fingers.

"He's beautiful," he said quietly.

Sherlock had returned the smile and looked down at the baby and it was then that he noticed it. And it had bothered him until they'd returned to 221B Baker Street where Mrs Hudson had greeted them as if they had been parted for a hundred years. For the next few days, Sherlock had avoided the baby, only actually holding him when he needed to be fed. The rest he left to John. At first the doctor thought it was just nerves. The man had almost been drowned for goodness sake, it was natural for him to be a bit wary around the child he had been so close to losing. But there was something else…something that wasn't right. He noticed more than often that Sherlock never once looked his son in the eyes, and that he often referred to him as "baby," or just "him," rather than James.

Sherlock watched John play with the baby's hands and felt a small feeling of dread well up inside him. The baby looked remarkably like himself; despite the fact he was newborn, he had a small tuft of dark curly hair and had the same pale complexion to his face. There was only one thing that stood out.

His eyes.

At first, it would seem he had John's eyes. A dark shade of blue that had a strange glitter in them. But to Sherlock, they were not John's eyes at all, neither were they his.

They were Jim's eyes. Jim Moriarty's.

Sherlock got off the bed and wandered into the kitchen, gently resting his hands on the kitchen sink. Moriarty's words echoed through his brain.

_You know he should be mine. You'd let me near him if you didn't believe he should be mine._

"He has nothing to do with you," Sherlock muttered to himself.

_Oh but he __**does**__, Sherly, he does. More than you can imagine._

"Sherl?"

Sherlock jumped and turned to see John standing there in the doorway, holding their son.

"What's the matter?"

Sherlock said nothing, but turned back and continued to peer down the sink, fighting the urge to be sick.

"Are you feeling sick? Here, take the baby for me and I'll take your temperature."

"No!" Sherlock said quickly, making John blink in surprise. Sherlock blushed when he met the doctor's eyes and stammered, "I mean…I might drop him or something…"

"Sherlock, what's wrong with you? You've been all jumpy around him for days. You won't pick him up, you won't play with him, you won't go anywhere _near_ him. What's up?"

Sherlock sighed. He was hoping John hadn't noticed his behaviour for the past few days. But nothing got past Dr Watson.

"Take a look at him John. What do you see?"

This confused John further but he looked down at the baby, gurgling happily in his arms and gently stroked his little nose.

"Well…I see…your hair" he scanned the baby a little more, "My mother's nose, my grandfather's cheekbones…"

"What else John?" Sherlock said impatiently, "What _else_?"

John shrugged, "I don't see anything else. Just my little boy."

"Look at his eyes."

"What about his eyes?"

"They're _grey_ John."

John glanced down at the baby. Indeed, they were a dull colour when you looked properly. But surely that was just a coincidence.

"So?"

"They're _his_ eyes John."

"Whose?"

"Jim's..." Sherlock sighed and put his head in his hands.

John looked back at the baby's face. And then he too saw it. The dull silver-grey colour that had a mischievous wink to them.

"…that's it? That's why you've been so nervous around him?"

Sherlock stared at him, as if he'd slapped him in the face.

"What do you _mean_, that's it? That means _he_ is a part of him John! That means he'll grow up reminding me of _him_!"

"But he's _nothing_ like him Sherlock," John said calmly, and then he added quietly, "_Look_ at him."

Sherlock glanced at the doctor, as if he was joking. But John had never looked more serious. Almost cautiously, Sherlock approached him and hesitantly diverted his eyes to the baby's face.

"What do _you_ see Sherl?"

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat as he silently deducted the baby's face.

**Cheeks tinted pink:** He was in a good mood, obviously overwhelmed by his new surroundings.

**Small tufts of hair:** Sure sign of an early baby. He was going to grow up fast.

**A look of certain concentration on his face:** He was going to be a detective when he was older.

Apart from that, a perfectly normal baby.

"I see…" Sherlock fought to find the words, "…I see my son."

"Exactly. _Your_ son. And my son. Nothing to do with Moriarty. So his eyes are a little grey, that doesn't mean we love him any less, does it?"

Sherlock let a small smile spread across his lips, "No…it doesn't."

"Hold him Sherlock."

Sherlock licked his lips nervously then took the baby in his trembling arms. He gazed down at that picture of innocence; those perfect little hands and those chubby cheeks. How could he have possibly been afraid of such a sweet little being? He felt such a fool.

"He's beautiful." Sherlock whispered, tears beginning to well up in his eyes and he gently leaned forwards and kissed the baby's forehead.

The couple spent the rest of the afternoon sitting together on the living room sofa, marvelling over their new baby. Sherlock suddenly felt the small empty space inside him fill up and realised what he'd been missing all those years he'd lived alone. When he met John, he thought his life was complete. But now…_now_ he realised what had been missing. He ran a finger down those delicate cheeks.

"I love you…James Hamish Holmes."


	23. One year later

**Final chapter! Thank you so much for all of your lovely comments! I can't believe I was originally going to leave this as a one chapter story :/ Anyway, I'd like to thank Foreverthepretender for helping me with all the Moriarty scenes as I could have never done it without her. I demand anyone who read this story to also check out her stories (she's amazing!) Thank you again and don't worry! There will be a sequel! :D**

* * *

><p><strong>One year later<strong>

"Sherlock! James is trying to mix sulphuric acid with orange juice again!"

"Well, _stop_ him!"

John sighed and prized the infant from his experiment. He was just like Sherlock. As everyone had feared.

"Just _look_ what you've done," he gently scolded the one year old, showing him the mess he'd made, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"_Wrong!_" James squealed with delight and clapped his hands, repeating the same word over and over again, "Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!"

John shook his head, allowing a smile to break out. 'Wrong,' had been James' first word and he'd been saying it non stop for weeks now. John had no idea where he'd picked it up from but he felt it had something to do with Sherlock.

He tickled the boy on his stomach. You couldn't stay angry at James for long.

Downstairs, Sherlock was on the sofa, googling baby names with Gladstone snoring beside him as John came down the stairs with the toddler.

"That tea tasted funny this morning," he remarked as he put James in his high chair.

"Really?" Sherlock slowly closed his laptop, "I didn't notice."

"No, it was really strange. Rather bitter. Do you think Mrs Hudson over did it on the sugar?"

"Too much sugar would hardly make it bitter John," Sherlock laughed.

John just shrugged and went to get milk for James.

* * *

><p>A few nights later, when James had been put to bed, Sherlock snuck up to John who was relaxing on the sofa watching crap TV and slowly put his arms around him.<p>

"John?"

"Yeah?" John didn't take his eyes off the screen.

"I have something to tell you."

"What's that?"

Sherlock slithered up to him and whispered in his ear.

"I'm pregnant again."

* * *

><p>Jim Moriarty sat there in the darkened room; a weak, lonely mess.<p>

He stared at the remote in his hands. The remote he had used a year ago, the remote which switched the pipes on and off. He sighed, throwing it against the wall. He should have let him die. He should have let the water rise above his head until he choked to death. Then the game would have been his.

_So why did he spare him?_

He knew why.

_Because he loved him._

He thought of that baby boy…the boy who was rightfully his. As he was walking away from the warehouse it suddenly hit him that he and Sherlock could never be together, it was too risky, for the both of them. And that little boy James…he needed a proper dad. John Watson wasn't exactly Moriarty's favourite person in the world…but he'd be a good father to that little boy.

Little James.

_That button had controlled fate._

Moriarty sighed again, leaning back against the wall behind him. He was tired of being cast down as a criminal, for a change he wished people would give him some of the credit he deserved.

_After all…_

This time, it had _not_ been John Watson who'd saved Sherlock Holme's life...


End file.
